


Forget Me Not

by huggabee



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Amnesia, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Self-Harm, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:14:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huggabee/pseuds/huggabee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm sooooooooooorry for this fic. Wait no I'm not.</p><p>Trigger warnings at the end notes because spoilers.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Forget Me Not

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sooooooooooorry for this fic. Wait no I'm not.
> 
> Trigger warnings at the end notes because spoilers.

_The white room looked much prettier when it was covered in his friend’s – in Steve’s flowers and wonderful paintings. Yes, his name was Steve, and he was the man’s friend, and the man’s name was… well, he had no idea. Cody? No, that didn't sound quite right. It didn't matter. His last name was Stark, because that's what all the doctors called him – Mister Stark – like he was some huge important guy and not a man child stuck in a pretty white room trying to remember how to talk so he could tell his only friend that he loved him._

_Until then, he used the flowers Steve brought him to make things, little crowns. He wasn't sure how he was so good with his hands, how he knew what would be most structurally sound, and what would stay together long enough. Based off of all that, he'd guess that he was smart, if he wasn't constantly watching the flower crowns die before he could give them to his friend. Somehow, he knew this thing called engineering that Steve always insisted was why he was so good at making things, but he could never quite figure out why the colour left the flowers so fast, or how to make that stop. One time, he tried to draw something for Steve instead, but he ended up accidentally ripping the paper – the same paper that his friend had brought him with a beautiful drawing of what looked like some kind of armour on the other side – and when Steve had arrived, all he could do was hold out the broken art to him and cry in silence. The tears had stopped right away when his friend smiled and pulled out his book of art and given the man a brand new drawing._

_Steve always knew how to make the man feel better again. When the man was really sad, Steve told him stories about superheroes, obviously things he'd made up, because super heroes weren't real, but something about the stories was found and familiar and it gave the man a sense of joy and wonder… and some other feeling, like he was remembering something good, but he could never remember what that feeling was called, and he could never ask, because he still wasn't quite sure how to talk, or if he even wanted to._

_Maybe if he talked, words would come out his mouth too fast and too confusing like they did in his brain, and maybe his friend wouldn't like the way the words never stopped, and maybe his friend would stop visiting him. The man needed his friend. Maybe not talking was for the best. For that reason, he stopped trying._

_The man had a really smart idea. He left the flowers in a little cup of water, and just stared at the little white daisies and waited, until one of the doctors came in._

_“Mister Stark, you'll have a visitor soon. Steve Rogers, as always.”_

_He smiled and nodded, then got up and ran to the cup when they were gone, because he wanted his plan to be a secret, so that his friend would be amazed at how long he kept the flowers good. He had a hypothesis, that if he left the flowers in the water until right before Steve came, the colour wouldn't go away as fast. He was absolutely right. That day, when Steve arrived, he jumped up to meet him, giggling and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, with the flower crown clutched behind his back. Pointing to Steve, then putting a hand over his eyes, he tried to communicate with his friend without using words, and his friend – always so, so smart – got the message and closed his eyes, even covered them with one hand. In a few moments, the man had set the flower crown on top of his golden hair, and carefully fixed it so that it looked just right, then stepped back and grasped Steve’s hand, pulling it down and smiling broadly at him. His friend looked so pretty, with the white flowers on his golden hair, and the red ones in his hand, and the little confused smile on his face, the one he only had when he was talking to the man, to Stark. The man didn't know much about flowers, but he could see how his friend treated him like a child and chose his words carefully when talking to him, as if anything could break him at any moment. For all the man knew, it was true. With the memories the way they were, with his brain so mushy and confusing, maybe there were many things that could set him off, that he just didn't remember._

_He knew he didn't like loud noises, especially sharp and sudden bangs, or flashes of light. When those happened, he ended up under his bed, with his arms over his head and tears running down his face, and the doctors had to call Steve to help the man get out, because only he could. Those days weren't so bad, because his friend brought him a delicious brown candy called chocolate on those days, and sometimes he’d tell the man that the chocolates had something called alcohol in them. Those ones especially helped him calm down._

 

* * *

 

No one had any idea how to make Tony Stark talk again.

 

It was that news, the same news, every time Captain America visited the mental institution, the doctors saluted him, and then the one in charge, Doctor Cho, who used to be a friend of his, but had grown to hate him for what he had done – and he couldn't even blame her – would come forward and report to him. It was always the same thing.

 

“No changes. Tony is still confused by things even children can understand. Our theory that his brain is blocking out painful parts of his memory is being confirmed again and again. By that logic, nearly all of his memories must have been painful, because he seems to remember next to nothing. Even Ironman, to him, is just a made up story, something that could never actually happen, much less happen to him.” The contempt in her eyes as she spoke cut into Steve like a million tiny daggers. Like everyone else, she thought it was his fault, the state Stark was in. “Judging by how he treats the flowers, and how upset he gets when the colour leaves them, he doesn't even understand the concept of death.”

 

Every time, he would get angry, snap at her to find a way to fix him, only restrain from clenching his hands into fists because he didn't want to risk killing the flowers that made the mental patient’s face light up like the sun, then storm off to the white room.

 

That day, when he entered, something wet was placed on his head, and Steve realised that it must not have occurred to Tony that the flowers would carry the water from the vase with them, and he decided immediately that it would be best not to fill him in on that fact. Instead, he just congratulated his friend on figuring out how to keep the colour in the flowers as if he had just found the cure for cancer and not finally cracked a basic fact of nature that was taught to most children before they had even entered school. It was worth it, to lie to him, for the look on Tony’s face as he was praised, and for the way he clapped his hands together excitedly, his favourite outlet for expressing joy since he had stopped talking. Afterwards, Steve handed the bouquet over, as always, and watched as the excited mental patient placed the flowers carefully in the newly empty vase, adjusting them and humming a soft tune that the soldier didn't recognise. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that they were living a normal life, Tony arranging flowers in their home – a nice cottage near a beach – as Steve relaxed and enjoyed the wind blowing in over the water, the light of the sun high in the sky above, the warmth of the dying embers in the fire place. Everything would be perfect, wonderful, and he lived in that fantasy for a minute, until the real Tony reached out and poked his shoulder, and Steve smiled and acted as if he'd been present in the moment the whole time.

 

The older man had a childish excitement in his eyes as his calloused hand tugged at the soldier’s shirt, and Steve couldn’t help but cave, like he always did, and he moved to sit on the bed with Tony, saying, “A story, then?” The excited nod both filled him with guilt and happiness, and Captain America took a deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a man who lived inside a suit of armour, and hid his heart behind walls of iron, so that no one could ever hurt him, and there was another man, who saw the iron heart, and loved it anyways.”

 

* * *

 

 

_The man was beginning to wonder if he'd done something wrong, because his friend hadn’t shown up yet, and he always showed up at the same time every now and then and even if the man wasn't sure how much time exactly that was, he did have a sort of internal clock telling him when Steve would be there. It was always right on time, until that day, when the clock was screaming at him and the white room was so painfully empty. The man had just about given up, picking apart the flower crown and setting them back in the vase, picking off the petals absentmindedly and trying to remember the little rhyme that went with the action. Steve had showed him it once. Why couldn't he remember? He scratched at his scalp, as his temple, at his neck, and when he pulled his hands away again, there was a red liquid on them. It was so pretty, and it tasted nice, so he started scratching at his arms instead, and the man was smiling, watching the pretty red liquid cover his pale skin, until his friend was at his side, screaming at him and calling for doctors, and suddenly he was wondering again if he'd done something wrong._

* * *

 

It was all Steve saw when he closed his eyes, the sickening smile on the face of the mental patient, the way his blunt fingernails dug into his arms, the way the blood stained his pure white clothes, his pure white sheets, his pure white room. The Captain had helped people through PTSD, had shown soldiers how to escape the darkness in their own minds, had even literally helped people away from ledges, stopped them from jumping with his words and then his body, but never had he seen someone take such joy in their own pain, and never had something scared him as much as seeing someone go from the smartest man he'd ever met to someone who wasn't even aware of the fact that he was killing himself. Tony Stark had nearly ended his own life simply because Steve had shown up late. He'd never be late again.

The soft whimper from beside him was what brought him back into reality, and Steve gave a reassuring smile to the man who was in restraints, his own hand gripping the side of the hospital bed, then moving to brush over the soft leather that was holding Tony down. “These are just for your own safety, I promise. They'll be off real soon.”

* * *

 

_His room was white again. The flowers were dead, all the drawings were there, but the red on his sheets was gone, and he couldn't understand what he had done wrong. The red was a pretty colour and the man had just wanted to see more of it, but his friend hadn't liked it, and things had gotten confusing, and everyone had been yelling and running around and there had been this pretty white light blocking everything and it made him feel happy and content and he'd wanted to go to it but his friend had stopped him with straps that secured him to a new bed, and he’d had to stay there for ages, in a weird room with little squares on the wall that showed so much colour in the place that his friend called outside._

_Steve said there were flowers outside, lots and lots of flowers, and he had said that one day the man might be able to go outside with him, and that had made the man very happy. His friend promised, that if the man took his pills and was good and didn't make the red appear on his skin anymore, they could go outside again really soon. The man didn't know what he meant by again, because he didn't remember ever leaving the white room before, but he was excited nonetheless._

_So he waited in his room on the day Steve usually came, practically bouncing off the walls with excitement, but when the door opened, it wasn't his friend. A woman walked in, and when her eyes met his, she looked so happy, happier than the man thought he had ever seen anyone look in his entire life, and she was on him in a second, arms around his shoulders, strawberry blonde hair surrounding him as she leaned down over where he was sitting on his bed so that she could hug him, and all the man could do was stare and wonder why it felt so right to have her hugging him._

_"Oh, Tony," she breathed out as she released him, slender hands moving to rest on his shoulders, then running down his arms, over his short sleeves, and then the bandages over his lower left arm, to finally stop where she could intertwine her fingers with his own. Her smile was soft and reassuring, and it brought a weird warmth to him that he didn't know how to explain. “Sweetheart, I missed you so much. I'm sorry I couldn't come visit earlier.”_

_From the way she reacted, the man – Tony – gathered that he must have looked just as confused as he felt. The smile on her face was fleeting, and seeing her disappointed somehow felt familiar, and turned the warmth in him into a tight, twisting feeling in his stomach, and he really didn't like that._

_“You really have forgotten everything, haven't you? Oh, sweetheart…” The woman ran her fingers through his hair, and sat on the bed beside him, her gentle hands caressing his own hands, his cheeks, his sides, mapping out all the parts of his body that he found he really liked being touched, and Tony found himself turning to putty in her hands, relaxing and smiling goofily, because everything seemed just fine, and she didn't seem so sad anymore. Then, suddenly, her lips were on his cheek, and then by his ear, in a carefully hidden whisper, and as he absorbed the information she gave him, Tony Stark remembered who he was._

* * *

 

“Cap, I need to get out of here!” Tony insisted, and the soldier felt his body tense. He'd only just entered the room, another bouquet of flowers in hand, and the man who he’d thought had forgotten everything was on his feet, pacing towards him with a familiar determination.

 

“…Tony – “

 

“Hydra is back! I don't remember who yet but someone close to us is with them, Steve! I've gotta get out of here and stop them! Whoever’s with them, they're who put me in here, they're who wiped my memory! They- I think they made me make weapons- I don’t remember! You've gotta help me!” The former hero was pacing, hands in his hair, pulling at it in a way that made Steve afraid he might hurt himself, more than he already had. The bandages that had been on his arm were cast aside, and the healing wound was worryingly tinged red, bobbing in and out of Steve’s view as the billionaire turned back and forth quickly. “Why can't I remember?! I need to remember! Fuck!”

 

Steve inhaled deeply and carefully set the flowers in one of the empty vases that decorated Tony’s room, then stepped forward and reached a hand out, placing it on his friend’s shoulder to stop him from pacing. “Tony, stop… You're confused…”

 

“I'm not confused! Why does everyone keep saying that?!” Tony snapped, looking up at him with wide, wild eyes – eyes with more life and more spirit than they had shown in years. “Steve, you gotta believe me! One of the avengers is Hydra! They've got you falling for it too! You're the only person I can trust!”

 

That stung, more than Steve would care to admit to anyone but himself, and he turned his head away from Tony, then bowed it and released his friend’s shoulder. He didn't know what to say, what to do, how to fix things, how to make them go back to when they were friends and it was good and Tony didn't suspect a thing. He opened his mouth, planning to convince him that he was really just confused, that he was mentally ill, that he needed help, but all that came out was a wet, choked, “Tony…”

As his friend took one step backwards, then stumbled away quickly until his back hit the wall, Steve refused to look up, because if the pain in Tony’s voice said anything about what his expression must have looked like, seeing it would have broken his heart.

 

“Oh god,” the genius whispered.

 

“Tony…”

 

“Oh god, it was – “

 

Steve turned on his heel and pushed his way out of the room, because he couldn't hear anymore, couldn't handle it, couldn't see the look on Tony’s face when he realised exactly what his trusted Captain had done to him. As he left, screams echoed behind him, and he tried to ignore them.

 

“Come back here you bastard! You traitor! I trusted you, you – “ When the noise suddenly cut off, Steve had the urge to thank whoever had made the room soundproof, but instead of running into whoever that was, he found himself face to face with an angry and a disapproving Helen Cho.

 

The silence was heavy on Steve’s heart, because no one stood up to him anymore, even Pepper was scared to speak on Tony’s behalf, even the Avengers had gone into hiding, but Cho knew how valuable she was to him, how much he needed her, so she felt more than safe in giving him that look that made him wish he was as cold and evil as everyone thought he was.

 

“You deserve everything he said to you, _Captain_.” That last word felt like a stab to the gut, but he did his best to ignore it.

 

“Make him forget,” he said without hesitation, before turning his back to Cho and starting to walk away, uncertain in his decision to betray Tony once more, but also knowing it was the only way to keep that heartbroken pain out of his voice. He had to hurt his friend – if he even deserved to be called that – to help him.

 

“But – “

 

“Make him forget!” Steve barked.

 

* * *

 

_“What are you doing? What's going on?! Doctor Cho, Helen, don't tell me you're one of them too! Where are you taking me?!”_

_Tony was more or less screaming himself hoarse as he was dragged along between two men dressed in white uniforms, something he was trying to make very hard for them to do, and something he was failing at. Apparently the years in the white room hadn't done much for maintaining the muscle mass that he'd previously had. Funny, captivity usually helped him become stronger, at least physically._

_The tile rubbed against his bare feet as he was dragged, and it was uncomfortable and made a horrid sound, but that was quickly forgotten about as the door to the room they were heading towards was pushed open, and he understood exactly what they were doing to him, and why he should have never revealed how he'd managed to regain his memory._

_"Oh, nonononono! You don't need to do this! You don't need to- oomph!”_

_His back hit the leather padded chair hard enough to knock the wind out of him and daze him for just a moment, but a moment was all they needed to strap his arms and legs down to the device. By the time they got to his head, he was struggling, but they managed that too after a few moments, and the black bite guard silenced his pleas. Part of him wanted to spit it out and keep screaming, but the rest of him knew that he'd need it for what was coming._

_As he waited, all he could do was stare around at the contraption he was in. He could barely move his head, which was held in place by the very thing that was about to – as Rumlow had once put it – put his brain in a blender, so that limited his field of vision quite a bit. The black metal and leather surrounding him was still terrifying though, and he heard whimpers that he would have been ashamed of had he not been so scared, as he flexed what little muscle had had left against the straps that held him down._

_The only warning he got before it started was a sympathetic look from Cho, right before the pain came out of nowhere, and he was screaming, biting down so hard on the thing in his mouth that he thought for sure his teeth would go right through it._

_It hurt it hurt it hurt it hurt ithurt ithurt ithurt ithurt ithurtithurtithurtithurtithurt_

 

* * *

 

 

Five years ago, Tony Stark had been just fine, and Steve Rogers had lied to him, and he had never seen it coming. No one had. After all, he was Captain America. No one, especially not Tony, had thought twice when he suggested they make WMDs, just in case they were needed, so that they would be the ones to have them instead of just their enemies. If Captain America thought they needed nukes, then they probably did. When Steve was standing behind him, arms resting against the back of his chair, eyes watching data flow across the screen, Tony hadn't even noticed the little grin on his face, the one that was famous among super villains, the one that was so unsettlingly wrong on the face of a hero. No one – not even Black Widow, and especially not Iron Man – had seen through his lies, until it was too late. Tony would never have thought, not in a million years, that the weapons he was making were actually for the very same organisation who had ordered the death of his parents, just as a means to an end.

 

No one had known, until it was too late, when that moment came, when Tony had struggled against his bonds and tried to get his chair over to his best friend, screaming at him to stop, pleading with him not to do it, only to watch the weapons he had made target New York, Washington DC, Las Vegas, and other cities with millions and millions of people. On that day, the weapons that Tony Stark had vowed to never make again had killed a total of 1.2 billion people, and on that day, Ironman spoke his last words for five long years, and those words had been: “I trusted you.”

 

The Captain kept telling himself that he was only visiting so that he could monitor the former hero and make sure that he didn’t become a threat to Hydra, and not because of some stupid feelings.

 

Even he didn't believe that lie.

 

Tony Stark, Iron Man, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, friend, lover – no matter what he was, what he was called, what he was doing; whether he was making weapons, saving the world, and helping those in need, or sitting in a white room, in a mental institution, not having spoken for five long years; no matter who Tony Stark was, Steve loved him like he had never loved anyone before, and for that reason, he visited the patient every Monday, with a bouquet of flowers, and slowly, that little white room was gaining colour.

**Author's Note:**

> Tw:  
> Self harm: scratching until you bleed  
> Taking advantage of amnesia  
> Hydra Cap (because apparently that's a trigger now)  
> Mentions of mass death  
> Memory wiping  
> Taking advantage of mental instability


End file.
